T is for Temptation Read online

  Witchy Women 1

  T is for Temptation

  Tallulah Trent, a conjuring witch with dicey powers, falls for Jake Mathews, her deceased husband's partner.

  For months Tee's kept her secret. Not once during Jake's visits has she conjured anything peculiar. Then he makes love to her, on a raft in the middle of the Caribbean, and chocolate cupcakes pop up everywhere. Worse, she discovers he believes she and her dead husband embezzled millions from their company.

  Jake knows Tee's keeping secrets, is positive they concern the persistent aroma of chocolate which seems to follow her. But when dead bodies start popping up and they all point to Tee, he feels a strange over-protective streak erupt.

  The bottom falls out of Jake's world when Homeland Security comes after him and Tee. Thrown together on the run, they discover each other sexually, but trust doesn't always follow sex, at least not at first.

  Sensuality Rating: SIZZLING

  Genre: Fantasy/Romantic Suspense

  Length: 116,000 words

  T IS FOR TEMPTATION

  Witchy Women 1

  Jianne Carlo

  EROTIC ROMANCE

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK

  IMPRINT: Erotic Romance

  ABOUT THE E-BOOK VERSION: Your non-refundable purchase of this e-book allows you to one LEGAL copy for your own personal use. It is ILLEGAL to send your copy to someone who did not pay for it. Distribution of this e-book, in whole or in part, online, offline, in print or in any way or any other method currently known or yet to be invented, is forbidden without the prior written permission of both the publisher and the copyright owner of this book.

  T IS FOR TEMPTATION

  Copyright © 2008 by Jianne Carlo

  E-book ISBN: 1-60601-166-9

  First E-book Publication: October 2008

  Cover design by Jinger Heaston

  All cover art and logo copyright © 2008 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  Printed in the U.S.A.

  PUBLISHER

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  DEDICATION

  For the strongest woman on the face of the planet,

  at least as far as I’m concerned:

  Angelica Cecilia Leandro Pires

  All my love always,

  J.

  In memoriam, Joseph Anthony Bernard Pires,

  Father, hero, friend,

  All my love always,

  J.

  T IS FOR TEMPTATION

  Witchy Women 1

  JIANNE CARLO

  Copyright © 2008

  A Dolphin’s Trust

  Port of Spain; Trinidad

  Tallulah Trent. Tee.

  Island siren.

  Tortuous temptation.

  Recent widow of his bat-slime, criminal partner Tony Trent.

  How the hell did he break the news to her?

  Even as the sight of Tee deep-sixed his senses, Jake Mathews noted the three parked police cars blocking the cul-de-sac, their blue lights flashing, and the knot of angry uniformed men cordoning Trent and Mathews’ Trinidadian office. A sweeping survey yielded a television camera unit and a reporter wearing an earpiece.

  He groaned.

  Every muscle bunched, and dormant nerves sizzled, sending a shooting lance to the base of his skull.

  Why were the police here?

  He had two goals on this spur of the moment trip from his corporate headquarters; close down the local office, and seduce Tee. Already in trouble with the IRS in Florida, he didn’t need any added pressure in Trinidad, and a huddle of six uniformed cops could only mean one thing, trouble.

  Imminent scandal loomed, not to mention financial catastrophe, if the pending charges against his firm had become public knowledge. Between Tee’s father’s political aspirations and the conservative, stodgy petroleum industry his business relied upon, media exposure had to be avoided at all costs.

  “What the hell’s going on here?”

  Jake elbowed the policeman who gesticulated at Tallulah out of the way. He planted his solid form in front of her.

  “And who be you?”

  The man’s pugnacious, hostile tone took Jake aback, especially when his thick lips bared large rabbit teeth with their gold caps glinting a blinding reflection of the tropical sun.

  If anything, Jake’s protective stance ratcheted the cop’s animosity, and the officer’s wrestler-built form angled forward, the veins in his corded neck bulging. He shook a tight, meaty fist at Tee.

  “Don’t you go anywhere, Mrs. Trent.” Contemptuous malice laced the detective’s low rumble.

  That did it.

  Jake’s mouth curled into an automatic belligerent sneer, a reflexive action honed from an adolescence mired in defending the younger boys in his care. At thirty-four, his daily workout alternated between weightlifting, boxing, and martial arts. His obvious fighting expertise, plus the fact he topped the cop by a good six inches, made the man scowl and lean back.

  He shifted right so his body blocked Tee from the line of uniformed men that materialized behind the figure he confronted.

  “I’m Jake Mathews,” he said, keeping his voice even, but telegraphing promised damage should any one of the policemen decide to become aggressive.

  Jake waved a hand at the house to their right, once a family residence, but now converted to a business office because of the Trinidadian oil boom and the lack of space in its capital, Port of Spain.

  “This building belongs to my company. Mrs. Trent’s husband was my partner. He died four months ago. What’s the problem?”

  “Oh yeah? You were Trent’s partner?” The policeman’s drawled question held derision and a gruesome anticipatory delight. He slapped his hands on ample hips. “You’re American. You can’t own property here.”

  The tropical early morning sun warmed Jake’s back, and he cursed the business formality, remnants of British colonial rule, which insisted on a jacket and tie in a country ten degrees above the equator. He twisted around and shot Tee a glance, anxious to protect and shield her from the obnoxious authority figures.

  As usual, the sight of Tallulah Trent heated his blood and prickled awareness across every inch of flesh, setting his randy shaft into action. He swallowed and drank her in.

  Seven years younger, Tee radiated a contradictory, intriguing combination of aristocratic confidence and ingénue, comfortable in diplomatic circles and with royalty, yet retaining a little-girl-lost kind of innocence. She wore a creamy halter dress in a gauzy material.

  A warm wind circled the cul-de-sac, and the fabric caressed her athletic body, shaping her slim curves, and her nipples stiffened, straining delicious points against the thin textile. Long, tawny ringlets teased at her bare gold-dusted shoulders framing arms muscled from her Equestrian training. Tee’s mere presence always drew his cock to half-mast, and now his blasted organ saluted to military attention, aching with want, need.

  His dazed mind didn’t allow the peculiar circumstances to sink in until his gaze reluctantly left Tee and swung back to the immediate problem. He noticed the revolvers strapped to the sides of the gray-clothed men crowding her from behind.

  They moved forward in unison, wide-legged stances inches away from contact with Tee’s rear end. The contentious posturing drove Jake’s every chivalrous instinct to the foref
ront. Fury sent him into a long-legged step when one of the men grabbed Tee by the elbow and yelled an obscenity, the man’s snarling features inches away from her profiled nose.

  He snagged the man’s hand, clamping a fist around flabby flesh, and squeezed. “Touch her again, and you’re a dead man. Step back.”

  “You can’t do that, Yankee. This is our country.”

  Even though the man shouted the words, he retreated, wrenching his forearm out of Jake’s purposeful, painful grip. He rubbed the injured area and glared, careful to maintain a wide berth.

  The Trinidadian police force had a notorious reputation for avid participation in both drug running activities and local kidnappings for ransom. Once in their custody, it could be difficult to effect release.

  “And you’re supposed to uphold the law, not abuse innocent women.” Jake’s growled, menacing tone gave the officers pause. He read it in their wary repositioning several steps away from Tee. Satisfied he held any threat at bay, he snatched her hand and swung around, careful to shield her with his bulk. “I didn’t say I owned the building. My business leases it.”

  He faced the original offender, raking a quick assessment. The man suffered from a Napoleon complex; that much seemed clear. Short, stocky, and pig-snout ugly, his complexion darkened to an odd purple hue.

  “Mrs. Trent is Mr. Henry Inglefield’s only child. I’d tread warily if I were you.”

  “Yeah? We found cocaine on the premises, and that means I can take her into custody if I feel like it.” The man, an inspector by the insignias decorating his drab uniform, jabbed a finger at his own chest.

  “Try it,” Jake said. “I’ll have the American ambassador here before you can blink.” He added, “And I have direct access to the prime minister.”

  A blatant lie, but a knockout punch nonetheless as none of them could question his statement. Since the Trinidadian prime minister was the equivalent of the leader of the United States, and Tee’s father rumored to be the next president of the small republic, the men backed down, defeated by Jake’s combination of innuendo and vehemence.

  “Jake,” Tee pleaded, and she tugged the sleeve of his jacket. “It’s all right. I called Dad’s lawyer. He told me to leave right away and go about my normal activities.”

  He glanced at her, and the concern in her light brown eyes held him entranced for a brief moment. “I’ll handle this, Tee.”

  She tiptoed, cupped a hand over his ear, and whispered, “Please, don’t antagonize the policemen. They terrorized the staff, and I only just got them to promise not to take anyone into custody.”

  Her warm breath streamed over his earlobe, and he had to tamp down the automatic tightening in his nether regions. They sallied back and forth, her whispering, him growling, until he surrendered to Tee’s entreaties and led her out of range of the still-quarreling police squad.

  “What’s going on? What’s this about cocaine?”

  Tee’s eyelids squeezed shut, and the strong line of her jaw moved. She sighed, and the rise and fall of those firm breasts mesmerized him for spellbound seconds.

  “I’m sorry, Jake.”

  To his surprise, she covered his hand with both of hers and met his gaze, but he couldn’t read her expression.

  “I’m sorry partnering with him has done nothing but cause you problems.”

  The bitter emphasis on the word him only served to reinforce Jake’s growing conviction Tee knew of Tony’s infidelities and she held no grief over his death.

  On the plane ride to Florida after his visit last week, the fact she never referred to Tony by his name or with anything but revulsion had hit Jake like a hurricane. That plus their first kiss, his first taste of her sweetness, had convinced him he stood a chance, could persuade her into an affair. Hope had transformed his hunger into pulsating, fervid desire, and he couldn’t resist the temptation to return and test the waters.

  Her waters and her deep, hot glove.

  The thought of being inside Tee consumed him, compelled every action.

  His breath hitched, and he thought of his mad scramble to cancel days of business meetings simply to have more time with her, two more days. It’d been four eternal months since Tony’s death; surely he’d waited long enough.

  “And now they’ve confiscated his SUV, and Tricia’s going to be angry with me.”

  Always bemused and beguiled in her presence, her words only added to his confusion. “What? Why on earth did they do that?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never had a policeman treat me so, so . . .” Her voice trailed off, and she crinkled her nose. “With so little respect.”

  Unsaid words filled in the rest of her meaning. As the daughter of the possible president of Trinidad and Tobago, the authorities treated Tallulah Trent with kid gloves.

  “I called Dad, but he’s up to his ears in meetings, and I couldn’t speak with him. It’s Bastille Day, and Henry and Tricia are having a dinner party for the French ambassador and twenty of their intimate friends. You know how my parents are.”

  Tee rolled her cat-gold eyes.

  “Tricia sent me down the islands to fetch her hibiscus crystals for the occasion. On the way there, I got a phone call about the robbery, and now they’ve taken the jeep, and I’m stuck.”

  “Okay, Tee. Slow down a bit.”

  He realized jangling nerves had her babbling.

  “The office was burglarized?”

  “Yes. That’s why the police are here. When the staff came in this morning, they found the offices torn apart. They called me and then the police and tried to figure out what was taken. The computers were stolen, of course, as were all the printers and the fax machine.”

  Three puzzled lines drew her tawny brows together.

  “The police chucked the staff out and taped off the area. They won’t let anyone in, so how on earth are we supposed to know what’s missing?”

  She threw her hands up in the air and rolled her eyes again.

  “Why did they confiscate Tony’s car?”

  As time ticked by, the sun rose higher in the sky, and the growing intensity of its rays prompted him to shrug off his jacket and loosen his tie. The low murmur of cruising automobiles on the busy main street fronting the quiet cul-de-sac ebbed and flowed.

  “The officer said it was because they found cocaine on the premises, which is preposterous. I mean, cocaine of all things. Tony was a—”

  She bit her lower lip and studied the asphalt road with a fierce concentration, and her flesh pinkened.

  Everywhere.

  Tonight, he promised himself, tonight.

  Soaring hope and a building sexual fever drove his thoughts. Tony was a what? Did she know how despicable her husband had been? The disgust in her tone didn’t portray a woman grieving. No, it pointed to a betrayed wife.

  “Those cops are coming our way.” He cupped her elbow and urged her in the opposite direction. “I have my rental car with me. Let’s get out of here. I’d prefer to speak with my lawyers first if the cops are going to interrogate us. And I definitely don’t want them taking you into custody.”

  She glanced around his shoulder at the line of uniformed men bearing their way.

  “Dad’s lawyer did say I should leave immediately, and I have to get those damned crystal holders. You’re right. We should go.”

  Within the space of a couple of minutes, Jake edged the car onto the roadway, but the snarling, perpetual Port of Spain traffic made their getaway more of a creeping escape. In the rearview mirror, he kept an eye on the cops, and the tension in his neck seeped away when they made no attempt at following them.

  During the course of doing business in the Caribbean over the last few months, he’d heard endless horror tales of illegal detentions and powerless embassies. He had enough trouble with Tony’s embezzlement charges in Florida, the last thing he wanted to contend with– was drug charges in Trinidad. He added another possible crime to his dead partner’s slate, drug trafficking, and wondered anew at his own gullibili
ty.

  “Jake?”

  He swept a glance at her, and the sweet entreaty in those liquid pools of honey arrested his mind and put another impudent organ in charge. Steady, settle down, he urged his prick.

  “Tee?” he replied, his brain searching for a secluded, intimate location they could be together, maybe have lunch.

  “Would you mind taking me for the hibiscus crystal holders? The police said it would be two days at the earliest before they’d let anyone in the office, so you won’t be able to work anyway.”

  Her telltale nervous habit of touching the tip of her delicate pink tongue to the left corner of her mouth distracted him, and memories of their kiss kept all logical thought hostage. He’d have agreed to anything at that moment.

  “Sure.”

  His cock thanked her with jerks and twitches, and Jake shifted in the car seat, adjusting.

  “Which way are we headed?”

  “To the yacht club. It’s at the western tip of the island. You know how to get to the Foreshore Highway. Just head in that direction, and we’ll end up there.”

  Flicking on the left indicator to follow her directions, he said, “Now, explain to me what we’re retrieving and why.”

  “It’s my mother. When Tricia entertains, everything has to be perfect. It’s her damned finishing school training.”

  “I seem to remember her saying you followed in her footsteps?”

  Jake grinned at her rueful expression, so entranced by the curve of her cheek and the long, tanned legs displayed by her short dress, that a wash of unrestrained sentimentality tempered by a powerful lust, threatened his normal discipline. He ordered his prick to behave, hang for an hour or two, and kept his eyes fixed on the road.